SwampLog 3.0

Ends and Odds

Preoccupied today, so I'll be brief.

'Million Dollar Baby.'  Pfft.  Whatever.  It was a good film, but not that good.

Today's my first full day back at work after a week of medical leave.  With luck, I'll still have a job.  I wish I were kidding.  More on that later.

I didn't go to the roller derby match last night -- the drive was too long, and I wasn't feeling all that great after a long day Saturday.

As I said, brief.

Fucking Merlot!

For posterity, here's my 2005 Oscar Picks.  Laugh if you wish, but I'll be the one who wins the Oscar pool:

BEST PICTURE: Sideways
DIRECTOR: Clint Eastwood for Million Dollar Baby
ACTOR: Jamie Foxx in Ray
ACTRESS: Hilary Swank in Million Dollar Baby
SUPPORTING ACTOR: Clive Owen in Closer
SUPPORTING ACTRESS: Sophie Okonedo in Hotel Rwanda
BEST SCORE: The Passion of the Christ
FOREIGN FILM: The Sea Inside
ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
ADAPTED SCREENPLAY: Sideways
CINEMATOGRAPHY House of Flying Daggers
ART DIRECTION: Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events
DOCUMENTARY FEATURE: Super Size Me
DOCUMENTARY SHORT: The Children of Leningradsky
FILM EDITING: Million Dollar Baby
MAKEUP: Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events
SCORE: Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events
SOUND EDITING: The Polar Express
SOUND MIXING: The Aviator
SHORT FILM - ANIMATED: Ryan
SHORT FILM - LIVE ACTION: Little Terrorist
VISUAL EFFECTS: Spider-Man 2
ORIGINAL SONG: "Vois Sur Ton Chemin" ('Look To Your Path") from The Chorus

'The Boy Is Pure, Dagnasty Evil...'

A lot of people, like my friend Lisa, think that the Star Wars prequels are a load of crap and refuse to have anything to do with the impending release of 'Revenge of the Sith.'  In my opinion, 'Attack of the Clones' was a fun movie, and a lot better than people give it credit for (the romp in the Naboo meadow or Anakin's masturbation scene that wasn't notwithstanding), and I simply cannot wait for the finale in May.

Of course, if you can't wait, here's a trailer that might help you bide the time.  It's a fan flick called "Episode III: A Lost Hope."  There's a lot of useless fan films out there, but this one is just as funny as 'Troops' or 'Pink Five.'  Enjoy.

Short It Out Loud

I've had a subscription to Rolling Stone for over two decades.  At first, it was for the music, since I was listening to more than the local Top 40 outlet was willing to give me.  Then, as I got serious about a career in writing, I paid close attention to articles by Tom Wolfe, Hunter S. Thompson, and P.J. O'Roarke.  In later years, as the music took a backseat to fashion and prefab pop bands, I would still look to RS as a way to find out what was happening on the coasts.

It's paid off again, as I was just shown something I could have never predicted: a "little person" KISS tribute band.

Behold: MiniKISS.

I'll refrain from comment, but just know that this was the first thing I saw this morning.  Know also that my whole day will likely revolve around this little batch of strange.

Conflict of Interest

So, with the Oscars tomorrow night, I thought my plans for Sunday had been sewn up for months.  However, something came up last night while I was on the P1WAC that changed my mind: roller derby.

There's a women's roller derby league in Austin called the Texas Rollergirls, and they're doing exhibition matches Sunday night at the What's Hot Fun World in sunny South Dallas.  The matches begin at 6:30 pm, and should provide a good insight to what flat-track roller derby is supposed to look like.

Discussion on the whole resurgence of roller derby turned to a graphic I saw in ESPN the Magazine (not ESPN, the Laundry Detergent) on the cost of professional sports franchises.  At the top, obviously, was an NFL team, weighing in at $625 million, then down to an Arena Football squad, which costs $19 million. 

This is where I got myself into a bit of trouble, for not bringing along a copy of the magazine.  At the very bottom of the list, I remembered seeing the cost of a Major League Roller Derby team listed as $10,000.  Problem was, it was actually the cost of a roller hockey franchise.

But, as the old journalism maxim goes, "never let facts get in the way of a good story."  So, the idea now is to form our own Roller Derby League in North Texas, becoming franchise owners ourselves.

Yeah, I know, I know.  But, hear me out.

As sports fans, it's in our very nature to bitch about team ownership and management, and say, "If I were the owner, I would do such a better job."  This is a way to have a practical experiment with a very real, palpable result -- and have a helluva lot of fun while we're doing it.  People would be able to buy in to the league with an ownership stake starting at $100, and be able to be an active, vocal member of a league ownership group.  Drafting and personnel, sponsorships, marketing, insurance, revenue sharing... all of this would be a very real exercise in what it takes to own a sports franchise.

So, I may very well be going to What's Hot Fun World and miss the first hour or so of the Oscars, but when a Big Idea hits, who am I to ignore it?

And How Was Your Day?

Wow.

I finally get to leave the house for an extended period of time today, to run a couple of errands, have lunch with The Aunts, and go on the Wild-Ass Circus (tonight, 8 - 11 pm)... and the comments explode.

Trying to figure out how to best respond to it all... and honestly, I can't.  Anything I would say here would be redundant, and honestly, I'm a little embarrassed by it all.  So, I'll merely say thanks to everyone who responded.

Meanwhile, with the recent new availability of the M of DaM.com, there's a Lad's Night Out brewing.  One option: heading to the Fallout Lounge for DJ Nitwit's Psychic Drive-In tomorrow night.  We'll see.

An Open Letter To an Unknown Person

Dear LiKeImGoNnA,

It's always intriguing to me whenever someone comments on the SwampLog.  Generally, it's a remark on how dead wrong I was about something, or asserting I was right, or whatever.

However, you have chosen to let the world know what a colossal asshole I am, and do so from my site.

There are a couple of things that came to mind, after I chuckled a bit.

First, you're not saying anything I haven't already said.  I know I'm a colossal asshole.  I've asserted it repeatedly -- I'm a horrible human being.  I've tried to do the best I can in life, and have screwed up royally along the way, fucking up relationships and alienating friends.  So, if you believe that you're doing a public service by posing anonymously to my site, get in line.  Additionally, I'm no more of a tortured soul than anyone else.  I simply tend to write about when I'm having problems.  If you read something into a post, that's your own prerogative.

Second, obviously you know me, or have had dealings with me in the past.  Why the anonymity?  Hiding behind a moniker -- while the same moniker, kudos -- doesn't really smack of credibility. 

Third, "capaciously" is a nice word, but used in the wrong context today.

In closing, I apologize for hurting you in whatever way I did, whenever I did it.  Apparently, it scarred you so much that you have to visit my weblog every so often and hurl a stone at my glass house.

A Different Sharp, Stabbing Pain

My friend EMY loves me.  That's why she'll pop up on instant messenger and throw me links of things she knows goddamned well I cannot resist.

I don't know where I can get one of these.
It may not even be available in America.

But I swear, I must have this knife holder and set.  Sheer genius.

Whomever has connections in Italy -- hell, if you live in Italy, I will buy ten sets from you.  That way, EMY gets one, I get one, and I eBay the rest.

After my ordeal this month, I think it makes a wholly fitting gift.

Pulmonary Preliminary

Well, I did have a stress cardiomyopathic event last Saturday, according to the cardiologist.

What this means ... well, I don't know what it means yet.  I've been tasked to work fewer hours and get more rest.  I'm off my feet, for the most part, for the next 72 hours, while the meds I'm on take hold.

So... here we go.

Gonzo

In the Eighties, Dr. Hunter S. Thompson was speaking at Southern Methodist University.  While he had open disdain for his surroundings, he did stick around to talk to a bunch of wide-eyed writers (including one who was younger than most of the people in attendance) who wanted to get a glimpse at what made Hunter so goddamned good at what he did, which was convey his singular opinion that the world was filled with all sorts of greedy whores, moneygrubbing bastards and various flavors of swine  Hunter was a man who, like Hemingway before him, lived the way he wanted to live, and anyone who didn't like it could go screw.

When I asked him whether or not I should pursue journalism, he looked me dead in the eye through his trademark yellow sunglasses, dropped the "more macho than thou" demeanor, and told me the one thing that I held fast to as a writer.

"Kid, it's the only job in America where you can really make a difference without being shot.  But only if you're good."

Last night, Hunter S. Thompson killed himself.  I don't know why, and we may never know.  Maybe the world was too much of a cesspool for him to steel himself against.  Maybe he had too many tabs of whatever recreational drug he assaulted his synapses with on a regular basis.  Maybe the prospect of four more years of George W. Bush was too much to bear.  Whatever the reason, it purely blows.

The world is a less interesting place without Hunter in it.

He wrote several fantastic books, but his hallmark piece was Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, where Hunter and his lawyer (who may or may not have existed) head to Sin City to cover an anti-narcotics law enforcement convention and a desert auto rally.  I'm oversimplifying, because you need to read the damned books to understand how wonderfully twisted Hunter was... or how he reacted to the twisted surroundings he found himself in. Which generally was hepped up on goofballs.

In this day and age, that's not necessarily a bad approach to take.